


Honour Guard

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Excuses to get dressed up, Lestrade on a horse, M/M, Police Uniforms, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is participating in a state function. His uniform for the occasion causes some interesting reactions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honour Guard

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Five Acts, Round Six for [](http://meteorfire.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://meteorfire.livejournal.com/)**meteorfire** for the prompt uniform kink.

“Keep an eye out, John,” Sherlock said as pushed through the last of the crowd to arrive at the police barricade separating the parade from the onlookers. “The killer won’t miss a chance to gloat. He’ll be here.”

“So you keep assuring us,” Mycroft drawled. Somehow the crowd moved out of his way as he followed them. He took up a position at the barricade beside John and rested his umbrella on the pavement. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take him too long to appear.”

“If you can’t stand the legwork, then don’t tag along,” Sherlock snapped.

Ignoring the brothers’ sniping, John craned his neck to look down the parade route at the oncoming marchers. In all their finery, the officers of the Met were difficult to tell apart, but at last John spotted Lestrade. “Huh,” he said. Both Holmes brothers turned to follow his gaze. “I didn’t know Gregory could ride a horse. Did you?”

“It’s never come up,” Mycroft said. His hand drifted up to grip the barricade.

“Not in his file, you mean,” Sherlock shot back. “I might have known. He like motorbikes. Might be linked to a past with-- ”

A squawk of trumpets cut off his deduction, and their attention turned to the oncoming procession.

The ranks of the Met honour guard marched past them, first those on foot, then a contingent on horseback. Lestrade, in the rank closest to the pavement, sat tall on the back of a white horse that had been groomed to perfection. He kept his eyes straight ahead, expertly guiding his horse with steady hands on the reins. His plumed helmet was strapped tightly under his precisely lifted chin. The polished buttons shone on his black dress uniform. The medals pinned to his chest caught the light as the horse moved. The scabbard of the ceremonial sword at his belt matched the fastenings on his epaulets and the shiny bits of the horse’s tack. Miles distant from his usual professional-yet-rumpled appearance, this Lestrade embodied the pride in his position that was always present, but never mentioned.

“Pardon.” Mycroft’s voice sounded strained. “I’ve an urgent matter that requires my attention.”

“It’s just a uniform,” Sherlock muttered, but John caught the way Sherlock’s eyes tracked Lestrade until his contingent turned the corner and passed out of sight.

“Come on, Sherlock.” John nudged him with his elbow. “Killer on the loose, remember?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”


End file.
